9 Chapter 9

Donna was a hard worker, more so than the secretary whom the department had hired last year, someone who penciled in her own schedule and showed up to work three times out of the five. Her employment was short-lived, and she was fired—thank goodness—to most of the staff’s delight.

When I walked through the double French doors of the secretary’s office, Donna greeted me with a smile, her dark lipstick overly applied, her small mouth the color of melted brown putty. Her wave was a blur of flashy fingers over the top of her laptop screen, each petite digit adorned with sparkling rings she had received from past relationships.

I ducked into the tiny vestibule of Donna’s lair that the department called an office. It was shaped more like a walk-in closet, chock-a-block with bookshelves and minimal room for visitors to sit. I stepped over boxes stacked with paperwork and picture frames of family she hadn’t gotten around to unpacking.